Norman
She had left her necklace on the bed.
I noticed it when I was getting up — a thin gold chain, small and delicate, curled on the white pillow like it had slipped off sometime during the night. I picked it up and held it for a moment, then closed my fist around it.
I would have to return it.
I shook my head softly at myself, got dressed, and checked out.
The traffic back to my apartment was brutal. I sat in it for forty minutes, jacket off, the morning heat doing its worst through the windshield, and arrived home considerably less composed than I preferred to be. I showered, changed, and stood in my kitchen drinking coffee and telling myself that returning the necklace was a simple, straightforward, completely unremarkable thing to do.
I picked up my keys and left.
I knew where
